


august

by moonlitwriting



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Suggestive Themes, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitwriting/pseuds/moonlitwriting
Summary: oikawa is the very definition of a perfect summer affair, but you hide the fact that you wish it could be more.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40





	august

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from my blog, by-moonflower.tumblr.com!

once more, you wake up to salty air, morning light and empty arms. the unsuspecting panic that arises in your chest dissipates just as quick when you hear glasses clinking from behind the sofa. relief sifts through you like a gentle breeze when you realize it’s oikawa in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready as he usually does.

hoisting yourself up onto your elbows, you peek over the sofa to watch him pour orange juice from a slender glass jar into two glasses. his teal t-shirt hangs over his broad frame—you’ve worn that one once before, you think—and his hair sticks up in a few directions. the windows above the sink are open, the sheer curtains drifting like clouds as oikawa hums to himself, too faintly for you to take a guess at what tune it is.

when you look down and around at your immediate surroundings, you notice the empty pizza boxes on the floor, the cotton blanket kicked away at your feet and your cell phone that had run out of battery since yesterday afternoon. looking at the scrabble board on the coffee table and its lettered tiles strewn about, blood rushes to your face when you hazily recall why the game was never finished.

“good morning, beautiful.”

oikawa leans against the back of the sofa and just as you turn to him, he nails the timing by stealthily planting a peck to your cheek.

you groan in response. “why do you always get up so early? summer is for sleeping.”

“yeah,” he says, putting more weight on his arms so he can lean into your personal space. “but your stomach makes an awful lot of noise in the morning.”

like it wanted to prove a point, your belly let out a weak growl right then, protesting as though you hadn’t fed it eight pizza slices at midnight. you were embarrassed, still, but oikawa doesn’t make much of it.

he reaches out to pinch the same cheek he kissed, “cute. now come on! let’s eat.”

you throw a leg over the back of the sofa to climb over. though you wouldn’t have had any trouble getting over on your own, oikawa still takes your hand to keep you steady. “one of these days, _i’ll_ get up earlier than you and _i’ll_ be the one to set up breakfast.”

he huffs at that, pulling out the chair for you and then circling the small table to settle into his own. “we only have five days left.”

_five days left_. the words echo in your mind, the disorientation of having just woken keeping you from realising that the 14 days of this vacation were almost up. your chest slowly fills with the familiar dread, like grains of sand streaming through an hourglass.

“it’s fine, anyway,” oikawa continues, effectively pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts. “i like getting up earlier than you,” he smiles. “you’re cute when you’re asleep.”

and again, you fall into a rabbit hole triggered by that loving gaze.

you wonder if oikawa knew. if he was acutely aware that almost everything he says and the way he looks at you feeds into your wishful thinking that something grander could be blooming between you two. that somehow, past the reality that in five days you’ll both be getting on different planes to different destinations, this could end up as something more than just a summer affair. that _you_ could end up being more to him than just a summer affair.

though you were moderately familiar with the way oikawa sometimes spiralled in his own vanity, you’re certain that he wouldn’t be as calculative as to do this on purpose.

so you blame yourself, mostly, for thinking you had what it takes to keep your feelings at bay the first night he whisked you away to this villa. or maybe you had a nasty, naive habit of romanticising every small thing he did—like help you with your bags from the plane’s overhead cabin, or keeping the food tray for you until you woke, or swiftly handing out his number to you in case your solitary break got a little _too_ lonely.

they were probably all gimmicks just to win you over but you didn’t have—didn’t want—the willpower to _not_ be won over by him. that was the kind of man oikawa tooru was, his charisma a yielded weapon and his attention something you didn’t realise you craved until he gave it to you.

the small part of you that didn’t think it was your fault, blamed him instead. had oikawa treated you simply as a summer fling should be treated—as nothing more than a heat-of-the-moment escapade—you figured you’d be fine.

oikawa juts his chin outwards to the homemade breakfast the villa host dropped off in the morning, urging you to eat. the breakfasts varied from day to day but always laid out the picture perfect assortment of pastries and fruits. “what do you wanna do today?”

“mmm,” your cutlery clinks against the pretty porcelain plates. “i need to go pick some seashells.”

“for your sister?”

it takes you a moment to register just how perceptive oikawa is at times. you were certain you only mentioned your little sister maybe once or twice in passing, but even then you don’t think you’ve ever told him her name.

you settle for a quick nod before adding, “but you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” 

you mean every word of it. you had spent the last nine days always in each other’s presences and you want to let him know that whatever relationship you two shared, did not obligate him to always stay with you. _that was a solid effort in establishing boundaries, wasn’t it?_

but oikawa doesn’t spare you a glance as he busies himself with his food. “but i want to.”

those four simple words sounded so earnest that it erased any trace of skepticism within you, as it always does. you don’t say anything to refute because you can’t lie about the fact that maybe that’s what you wanted to hear after all.

maybe you wouldn’t mind getting your heart broken by him when all this blows over. maybe not every relationship you had needed to amount to something meaningful. it was difficult though, to get away with a thought like that, especially when you feel like the short time you’ve spent with him had outdone any long-term relationship you’ve ever had. time is so strange, so mystical.

oikawa reaches forward and gently taps his fork against your plate. you blink at the interruption of your thoughts. “stop staring at me and eat,” he says, the usual smirk tugging the corner of his lip.

you shoot him a sweet smile of your own, “what makes you think i’m staring at you?”

“because _i’ve_ been staring at you.”

these days, the flirtatious comments just elicit an eye-roll, but oikawa’s charms are never fully lost on you. at the sight of you trying to sheepishly evade his scrutiny, oikawa laughs, loud and heartily—a song quite fit for this breezy morning.

* * *

oikawa maintains a hard, tunnel-visioned stare at the group of boys setting up a net in the middle of the sand. someone is playing obnoxiously loud house music over a portable speaker and the waves behind have retreated into a low tide. a lot more kids and families were out this afternoon, sandcastles popping up almost everywhere and the queue for the ice-cream truck getting longer and longer.

you nudge oikawa in the rib before dropping your things back down on the sand. “go ahead, i don’t mind staying a bit longer.”

the jab momentarily snaps oikawa out of his daze and he looks back at you with narrowed eyes, his hand faintly squeezing its hold on yours. you had to let go to be able to yank away the bag already slung over his shoulder and give him a small encouraging push in the direction of the net.

with the sun on its way down, both you and oikawa were just about ready to leave and head back to the villa, your towels all rolled up and squished into the tote bag, along with a borrowed novel, sunblock and a mess of other essentials you can’t remember.

you had already stood up, brushed the sand off your legs and reached to take his open palm into yours when you overheard a group of boys going around asking people if they wanted to play beach volleyball. you weren’t much of an athletic person yourself but when the boys came over to you, it was hard not to notice the way he was entranced, attention occupied by the volleyball they were playfully tossing about.

it took some convincing on your end—maybe a little flattery too as you pleaded to _have_ to see him play—but oikawa does end up joining the people crowding the makeshift court, claiming that one or two games wouldn’t hurt.

but one or two games proved too few. in multiple games of doubles, you’re left to watch in sheer astonishment as oikawa shone brighter than anyone else playing.

he first looks unsure, stumbling around the sand, missing the ball by an inch and messing up a few serves. he laughs it off too naturally, but after a while, you notice the mistakes grew less and less. suddenly, he adopts a form that exudes a strength you didn’t see before. it’s like he’s finally got a feel for the sport, finally understanding how the wind may blow the ball out of his direction and how the sand may betray his stance to jump.

as he grows more certain, shutting down the other team’s attacks and making sure every one of his goes through, it’s clear to you that this wasn’t his first time playing. there was something more to him, something you couldn’t put a finger on. it was beyond his good looks, beyond his goofy antics.

you note that you don’t think you’ve ever seen oikawa so… _excited_. he was an expressive person, yes, but watching him play revealed an entirely new side of him. the sheen of sweat coating his face, neck and arms let him glow with the help of the setting sun. he was laughing as he spiked a ball, competitive as ever when he blocked another. it was watching a new person altogether, someone rightfully in their element.

it’s dark when he finally retires, shadows dancing around on the sand as bonfires are lit and lanterns along the coast are illuminated. oikawa and whoever he was paired with had beat every round of teams that went—winning so much that you lost count—and he jogs over to you, collapsing onto the sand right by your side. his chest heaves with the exhilaration of adrenaline and you hand him a towel and a bottle of water.

“okay, it seemed like you could play but i didn’t know you could play _that_ well,” you say.

he takes the towel and wipes down his face, visibly unable to hold back the smile pushing up his cheeks. “hm? i’ve never mentioned?”

again, oikawa reminds you that you were caught in this limbo of knowing him while also not knowing him at all. that even though two weeks felt like nothing in your head, you had to remember that time was relative and that maybe he didn’t perceive it the same way with you. _did this bother him like it bothers me?_

he sits up then, keeps his legs straight as he took big, long gulps out of the bottle. he finishes with a loud exhale. “i played volleyball in high school,” he begins, twisting the cap back on. “our school played in tournaments and all that.”

“oh? was your team any good?”

he briefly locks eyes with you but then redirects his gaze out to the ocean. you’d have to be paying very close attention to notice the way his face slightly falls. his smile is still there, but it looks sad now—reminiscent, maybe. it’s an expression you’re familiar with, one that settles on your face naturally anytime that you think about a past memory. a good memory at that, one that you wouldn’t mind reliving for a moment.

after a long enough pause, he says, “our team was the best.”

oikawa’s voice slightly wavers towards the end and you take it as a cue not to ask further. you both sit in the quiet together, feel the air grow cool and watch the moonlight reflect the surface of the water. it was unclear where the ocean and sky met, the two blending together into a darkened, endless horizon.

you think about how oikawa has pages and pages of his high school days with him that you may never get the chance to read. you too have endless stories that he may never have the slightest clue of. 

he then turns to you, tilts his head in a way that causes your heart to race. “thanks for waiting for me.”

“no worries,” you smile. “you spent all morning the other day collecting seashells with me. anyway, watching you play volley makes you twice as attractive.”

he quirks a brow, “ _only_ twice?”

“yeah,” you say with a playful shove to his shoulder with your own. “only twice.”

“what if i told you i was captain of my team in high school?”

with a hum, you look straight ahead, trying too hard to ignore the way his eyes fixate on you. “then, i kinda wish i knew you back then.”

he falls onto his back, nose pointed up to the sky and eyes closed. his soft exhales are timed with the rush of the waves ashore and every other noise fades into the background until it’s just the two of you. “i kinda wish i knew you back then too,” he breathes.

his words were barely audible but you heard them and you don’t know what to make of it.

* * *

it has to be a universal understanding that packing to go home, is the worst part of any trip. you sit on your knees in the middle of a laundry storm, trying to pack the past two weeks back into your suitcase. you’re convinced that you’re somehow bringing back more than what you brought in the first place.

oikawa lounges on the bed behind you, mindlessly flipping through the uninteresting channels of the television. he didn’t look the part, but oikawa had the foresight to pack little by little over the past week so he didn’t have to do it all at once on the last day, like you are.

so, he’s left to wait on your panicked frenzy, occasionally dropping unhelpful remarks like the fact that he wants to cuddle or that he’s hungry.

it’s after a couple more exasperated sighs and oikawa’s fifth time uttering “i’m bored” that he brings your attention to something in the mess of your clothes. “is that a polaroid camera?”

“hm?” you feel around the pile that oikawa vaguely points to. “oh?” uncovering a sunhat, you find the camera, blinking confusedly as you completely forgot you had brought it all along. you remembered getting frustrated on the second day when you thought you had forgotten it and had to resort to taking pictures on your phone instead. “this always happens to me. i bring the thing but forget to take pictures with it.”

oikawa crawls off the bed, makes himself comfortable amid the mess. he asks for the camera, carefully holding it up in his hands. “let’s take a picture.”

“w-what? no!” in reflex, you hide your face in the blade of his shoulder while you blindly try to knock the camera out of his hands. “face is oily, haven’t showered, feeling icky,” you mumble.

like he has done so many times before, oikawa instinctively wraps an around your waist to encourage you to stay that close to him. “i don’t see why that’s an issue when you always look perfect?”

“now’s not the time to be cute, tooru. let’s just take one later.” your eyes are still closed against his body.

when he chuckles, you can feel the sound through his bones. “okay, later.”

you do end up taking that picture later on, after having dinner out and walking along the coastline with your sandals in your hands. oikawa ends up asking your permission to take a few scenic pictures with the polaroid, finding it so fascinating that the polaroid would shoot up from the top of the camera in an instant. he looked like a child preoccupied with a new toy and it made you wish you had found it sooner.

oikawa was the one to remember the photo together you promised.

truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking about his request since he first asked. throughout the entire trip, you don’t think you’ve ever documented oikawa enough for him to be a permanent feature of this getaway. you’ve taken selfies, asked him to take pictures of you to send to your family, maybe sometimes have his hand or shadow in the shot; but never enough for you, or anyone, to know that _this_ was oikawa tooru.

it was the same with him and you knew better than to question it. you’ve convinced yourself enough that maybe only knowing him in memory would be easier on you than having proof of your time together. knowing yourself, you’d comb back through too many photos and start missing him when he won’t be around, and _that_ was a well-known recipe for unrequited yearning.

for the picture together, oikawa asks a bystander for help and while he explains to the woman at what angle she should hold the camera up and what button to press, you fidget in place wondering how you were meant to pose for such a picture with him.

but just as you settle for a friendly distance and a casual peace sign, oikawa pulls you closer until you’re flush against him, a hand on your waist and his head leaning into you. 

“you both make such a cute couple!” the woman says as she hands the camera back. you pretend not to hear the comment and oikawa just gently laughs it off, neither confirming nor denying it as he thanks her.

* * *

the goodbye weighs heavier than you imagined and you wanted this parting to be as quick as possible. _just rip the bandaid off_.

but unlike what you’ve simulated in your head, oikawa was not any more composed than you were. he barely said a word the entire cab ride to the airport, subconsciously squeezing your arm a number of times, while his thumb continuously drew circles onto your skin.

even in the morning, when oikawa usually resorts to rash, hungry kisses, he instead slowed his pace and took his time, lips travelling up from your collarbone, to your neck and your cheek. his wandering hands were not foreign to you but it felt all the more novel with the time he was taking.

you keep telling yourself it’s no circumstance worth crying over, but you’ve just never been good at goodbyes.

oikawa waits on a bench nearby as you check-in your luggage and receive your boarding pass. you note that there’s 3 hours until your gate opens. oikawa’s opens in 2 hours and a half.

the mystical thing about time is that it knows; it goes by quickly when you want it to go slow and it also always goes by too slowly when you want it to speed up. oikawa stubbornly helps you with your carry-ons, despite you refusing his assistance, and you order his favourite menu at the local fast-food chain. he guards your things when you make a quick stop to the restroom and you accompany him scour through the overpriced duty free store as he panics about getting something for his best friend, “iwa-chan”.

the airport is too small for either of you not to notice the unaddressed tension. your tears don’t come when your feet stop at oikawa’s gate and you find that you didn’t have to swallow back sobs when he turns around and says a very genuine, “thank you.”

you thank him too, with arms wounded tightly around his neck, for his time, his attention, for an unforgettable summer. there’s the same pining in the way his hold on you squeezes your ribs and the breath out of you. you don’t want to let go.

oikawa looks back twice at you as he lines up at the counter, a stewardess smiling brightly at all the passengers as they hand her their boarding pass. your gate opens in ten minutes but it’s more than enough time for you to hurry over. you stand there, forcing a steady smile as he grew smaller. he looks back once more once the stewardess gives him back his passport, and he waves to you before disappearing into the tunnel that leads into the plane.

* * *

**epilogue.**

oikawa sighs loudly for the umpteenth time and iwaizumi almost snaps his neck when he looks back to shoot a death glare. “quit sighing, stupid-kawa.”

he throws his hands into the air. “why do you all have to be here in _my_ house planning a trip that you’re not inviting _me_ to?!”

“you’re not invited because you already went on a trip _without_ us,” matsukawa notes, eyes still trained on the computer screen as they scour the internet for a good enough weekend getaway deal.

oikawa pouts, though no one’s really paying attention to the fit he’s throwing. “i _told_ you that it was a spontaneous trip! the ticket was 80 percent off at that second, i wasn’t going to give it up a chance for a tropical holiday!”

a pillow comes flying towards his face and oikawa misses the chance to dodge it by half a second. “hey!”

“quiet down,” hanamaki mutters, hands busy clicking away.

“look,” oikawa kicks the pillow of off the bed. “i get why mattsun and makki are mad but _you,_ iwa-chan?” he clicks his tongue, rubs his chin thoughtfully. “i expected more from the one person i remembered to get a souvenir for!”

iwaizumi grits his teeth. “so, you admit it was an afterthought?”

“i bet that slice of cheesecake in the fridge that oikawa got it at the duty free shop right before his flight back,” makki off-handedly says.

oikawa whines, “that’s not your cheesecake to bet on, makki! and it was a nice keychain anyway, right iwa-chan?”

iwaizumi grunts something indecipherable before turning his back to oikawa. oikawa doesn’t make any more complaints though, only because he caught a glimpse of the keychain he gave attached to iwa’s backpack the other day.

“hmph, fine, if you’re all going to be like this. _i’m_ going to have that cheesecake.”

the other three boys ignore oikawa as he makes his way out of the room and into the kitchen. on the way, he notices the backpack that he brought with him on the trip kicked away in the hall. he forgot to unpack whatever was left in it, recalling how exhausted he was when he got back a few weeks ago.

he treads over, bends down to lazily rummage through the extra inner pockets. it’s in one of the side pockets that oikawa feels a thick, film paper brush against his fingers. a part of him knows exactly what it is as he pulls it out; he’s unsurprised to find the polaroid of the two of you in his hold.

he wonders when you snuck it in or why you took it in the first place if you were going to hand it back to him anyway.

running his hand down the photograph, oikawa thinks of you. there were plentiful moments throughout those two weeks that oikawa felt you looked so beautiful, but he always imagined that a photo wouldn’t able to accurately capture it. he was right, mostly. this polaroid did nothing to encapsulate the life in your laugh, the sun in your eyes, the velvet of your touch.

but it was something, at least. oikawa has hundreds of photos from that trip, all with only parts of you in them. it’s only with memory that he’ll know exactly who it was that made that time memorable, who it was that took the photos he would later make his profile picture. but he also knows that without anything tangible to remember you by, your face would blur over time and he would cease to really miss you.

he supposes he was counting on that. oikawa was just too unsure of what would happen, if he had pursued you, if he had talked you into trying a long distance relationship. he’s had the rest of his life almost planned out for himself, volleyball as a career that would take him oceans away from his home, and he was certain that it would be unfair to just squeeze you in. you deserved more than that, you deserve much better than that.

oikawa smiles, makes a silent prayer of some sort that you’re well and he slips the polaroid into the inner pocket of his wallet.


End file.
